


Colitas: Buds of Hope for the Dead

by Jenshih_Blue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Male Slash, Season/Series 03, Songfic, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two days remain before Dean’s time is up and in the small Texas border town of Los Angelitos Sam tries one last desperate thing to save his brother from going to hell. He visits a place that most people believe is just a creation of two stoned writers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colitas: Buds of Hope for the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Eagles’ song _Hotel California_ about as classic rock as you can get. *grins* Also I know that the timeline is off in this, but for argument’s sake in this story AHBL Parts I  & II takes place in this universe between October 30 & November 04, 2007.
> 
> Originally written as a birthday gift for crazyjoyfulgirl January 15, 2008.
> 
> Re-edited: March 13, 2013

_On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair_

_Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air_

_Up ahead in the distance, I saw shimmering light_

_My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim_

_I had to stop for the night_

 

**_Hotel California_ **

**~The Eagles**

 

 

 

In the end, it was only them and the highway, ribbon of blackness stretched out into the twilight washed desert, across the border, and into Mexico. Sam knew it was close to the end, give or take a day, and his heart was beginning to break, spider web cracks along its surface, thin ice sheen like that of a half frozen lake. He also knew fate had a twisted sense of humor when it came to his family. All of them dying one by one on November 2—The Day of the Dead. Dean thought it would be funny to go to Mexico, celebrate before he died. On the other hand, Sam thought it was the sickest thing in the world until he found the book.

 

When they pulled into Los Angelitos, a small border town in Texas that barely qualified as a town, Sam insisted they stop for the night although they could have made it across the border before full dark. Dean hadn’t argued, he didn’t argue with Sam much anymore, and Sam suspected it was due to his impending death. The motel was even worse than most they stayed at, but Sam didn’t complain. He was desperate to discover a last minute solution to stop the demon, which held the contract on Dean’s soul. He’d heard through the hunter’s grapevine Los Angelitos might hold the solution he’d sought for nearly a year.

 

Dean had called first dibs on the shower and that was fine with Sam. With a smile and faint snort, he’d offered to go in search of food. Tossing him the keys, Dean vanished into the bathroom with his duffle, and Sam counted his blessings. He had no doubt Dean was finally convinced he’d given up his constant search for a way out of the deal he’d made at a lonely crossroads somewhere in southern Wyoming.

 

He didn’t take the car there was no reason to in a town the size of this. Stepping outside into the desert twilight, he closed his eyes and inhaled. Out here, the air was clear of pollutants, dry, and the scent of spices drifted on the night wind from the truck stop across the way. Eyes drifting open he turned on heel and headed across the blacktop to where the small truck stop stood, its windows lit with a warm light. He’d heard he would find what he sought at the truck stop or at least the way to it.

 

With a soft exhalation, he looked both ways, not that there were any vehicles for miles, and crossed the road. The cry of a coyote his only companion beneath the swell of a three-quarter moon that lit the desert floor with ghostly silver.

 

**~~~**

 

Mariposas was her name—a delicate girl of maybe eight or nine. Her eyes were huge and dark as she studied Sam from her perch on the faded countertop. She wore a broomstick skirt of rainbow layers and a simple white peasant blouse, long glossy raven hair bound into two waist length braids. Sam only knew her name because the young man behind the counter flipping burgers had reprimanded her in Spanish twice for staring at the gringo. It did no good though—she still watched his every move.

 

When Sam could stand it no longer he turned and met her dark gaze and she smiled—teeth sunlight bright against the caramel of her skin. Sam caught himself smiling back and Mariposas clambered down to the stool, hopping from there to the next until she was standing on the stool next to Sam. She reached out one tiny hand her fingers ghosting through his sweat-dampened hair. He frowned to himself wondering exactly when it had gotten so hot. She cocked her head, curious hand drawing back, and down to settle on the sleeve of his checkered shirt to tug gently as she dropped to her bottom and slid to the floor.

 

Without thought or provocation, Sam found himself standing and following her tiny form out through the glass doors and into the desert night. A faint breeze stirred the powdery red sands, swirling it across the cracked blacktop in random patterns, and he wondered if perhaps the patterns weren’t random at all, but rather signs he was on the right track. Drawn from his thoughts by the whisper of Mariposas’ skirt around her bare feet he glanced up eyes drawn to where she stood at the edge of the winding road as it headed out of Los Angelitos. The wind was picking up and Sam could smell a warm sweet scent that tickled his nose and reminded him of California, of the life he’d had before everything had went to shit.

 

The corner of his mouth quirked in a smile as he moved closer, gaze following the graceful dance of loose strands of Mariposas’ hair. She glanced up at him and returned the smile he offered then she lifted one arm, tiny finger pointing up the winding path of asphalt into the distance and his eyes followed the path of that tiny compass needle.

 

On the distant horizon, Sam could make out a shimmering light and at first, he thought it was the distant lights of a border station, but there was something not quite right. Shimmering and wavering as if the flame of a candle captured in the cool wind that now whispered through his hair. As everything faded, his head growing heavy Sam thought this might be the answer.

 

“Catrina… ella está viniendo y ella sabe que usted desea bailar.”

 

Sam’s attention lowered to where Mariposas stood swaying as if she could hear a sonata of such beauty she couldn’t deny her body the right to sing. “Catrina,” he whispered, “is she the one?”

 

“Sí,” Mariposas’ voice was lost in the wind that now was growing, “ella baila con todos los bonitos que desean recordar y algunos que deseen olvidarse.”

 

Turning back to the light, Sam exhaled the taste of sand and clay dust on his lips. Dean would be looking for him soon, but despite that he knew tonight was the only chance he would have. All the hunters he’d spoke to had told him she only welcomed searchers into her arms on the first night of the three days. The first night was the night she welcomed sinners and saviors alike into her cold embrace—or perhaps it was warm. Sam didn’t know the truth of her touch although he’d fallen into her embrace once before. He wished, as he stood there, he could remember so if he failed Dean at least he would remember where he’d been before his brother sold his soul to pull him back to reality.

 

**~~~**

 

He’d returned to the motel room, smile in place, and bag of greasy burgers and even greasier fries, a couple of Coke’s ice cold, and for dessert cinnamon and apple frittatas. Dean was like a bottomless pit some days Sam thought as he picked at his fries watching Dean shove another handful of his own in his mouth. Just this—watching Dean eat in his usual rude manner—was enough to cause Sam to choke on emotion. Forty-eight hours and if he didn’t succeed this would be one of many memories. His brother would be gone. The man he loved more than anything would be gone and he would be the last Winchester—the only one left.

 

“Sam!”

 

His head jerked up, eyes focused on Dean’s face, and the frown that had his eyebrows drawn into a knot, “Yeah?”

 

Dean snorted, “Just checking to see if you’re still breathing, dude.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sam rolled his eyes as he blew a strand of hair from his eyes. “I was checking out this website Bobby told me about.” He closed the laptop with one hand as he grabbed his soda, plastic slick with condensation, with the other and took a slug from the bottle.

 

Wadding up the burger wrapper, Dean tossed it at Sam with a laugh, “Bitch!”

 

Sam caught it midflight, “Jerk!”

 

As soon as the word ghosted past his lips, Sam felt his chest cave in. He didn’t want to lose this, lose the only thing that had ever meant home to him. The idea Dean had done this had nearly killed him all over again that night nearly a year ago. Now here he was after so much effort and nothing had changed. Nothing was as simple as it should be. The life they had would be nothing, but a nightmare if it were. Something dark shaken away like droplets of rain, except for one thing—them. The only good thing to come from what that yellow-eyed bastard did was what they had, even if no one understood, and no one could ever know.

 

He stood from the rickety table and crossed the room, leaned in, and his hand slid through the soft bristle of Dean’s hair. Dean studied him with curious eyes the color of dusty emeralds then smiled as he leaned in closer. Sam pressed his lips against Dean’s and it was sweet, gentle, and perfect—everything their lives had never been then he drew back their breaths mingling. “Get some rest.”

 

Dean’s lips parted for a moment, tongue moist and pink darting out to wet them. Sam thought he was going to give him shit like he usually did, but he simply nodded. “Okay—what about you, Sammy?”

 

“I’m going for a drive.” Sam turned away before Dean could witness his tears. “I’ll be back in an hour.” Then he was grabbing his jacket and slipping from the motel room.

 

**~~~**

 

He feared he'd wasted too much time, but as he pulled the Impala out on the blacktop, the glimmer of light on the horizon remained. Gas pressed to the floor, Sam guided the Impala like a sleek black cat down the highway, both windows open, and cool night wind blowing through to tangle in the strands of his hair. That warm sweet scent from earlier reached his nose again and he tried to place it as all but the light in the distance faded away, consumed in the gathering darkness at the corner of his vision.

 

How long Sam drove he wasn’t sure before he brought the car to a stop in front of a Spanish-style Mission, paper lanterns strung in the archways sparkling like fireflies against the darkness, and in the windows candles of every shape and size burned with gold light. Sam pushed open the car door and slid from the seat as he shut off the engine. The scent that had tantalized him now filled the air, thick enough to choke, and sweet enough to rot human bone to the core. A chill traveled the length of his spine and he knew she was here, moving in the human world to seek out those who wanted to both remember and forget.

 

The sound of a bell tolling filled the darkness and Sam glanced down at his watch—midnight. He knew some considered it the witching hour, but it wasn’t. Midnight was the point where one day slid into the next, the moment when one door closed, and another opened. Tonight though, a door opened into another world, and for this one night those who were lost could find solace in her arms, Mictecacihuatl, she who walks between worlds, Lady of the Dead—Catrina.

 

Sam inhaled the sweetness and stepped forward, moving towards a high wall of plaster covered adobe bricks, tall wooden gate breaking the blinding white of the wall. Behind the wall, the sound of music, exotic and rhythmic, overlapped the fading toll of the mission bell. As he reached out, palm flattening against the aged wood of the gate a melodic, accented voice teased his ears.

 

“Welcome, Samuel.”

 

Turning away from the gate his gaze moved up the curvaceous body of the woman who stepped from the shadows of one of the arches. She was tall, long legs moving up into full hips beneath a sheer gauzy skirt, turquoise and silver belt accenting her tiny waist. She wore a long sleeve, scoop neck, white satin body suit beneath the skirt, painted on over the swell of ripe breasts, an intricate embroidered design along the edge of the neck. The satin caught the light from the colored lanterns and rippled with an opalescent rainbow. Her skin was the color of Café Lait and raven hair swept back from her forehead, curling around her ears, from which long white feathers dangled on silver hooks, cascading down over her shoulders. Deep coffee eyes studied Sam as plump glossy lips curled into a seductive smile that had his body trembling.

 

She reached back in the shadows and when her hands reappeared, she cradled a thick pillar candle between graceful fingers. The wick flared to life and her lips parted, revealing perfect white teeth in sharp contrast to the claret of shimmering lips.  

 

“How did you…?” Sam began.

 

Opalescent light moved through dark eyes, vanishing before he could take another breath. “I believe you know exactly how.” She turned the skirt swirling around her ankles, the silver bangles that surrounded them jingling as she beckoned him with one hand the other holding the candle aloft. “Come.”

 

Sam followed her mesmerized by the sway of her hips and swallowed back the sickening sweet smokiness of the air. The shadows closed in around them as she led him along a narrow corridor through the darkness. Ahead, Sam could have sworn he heard the whisper of voices welcoming him into their world and suddenly the fear began to fade.

 

“Come dance with me, Samuel,” the woman’s words drifted back to him, “come dance so you may remember and your brother may forget.”

 

Sam wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it hadn’t been this, he thought as the long corridor emptied into a wide courtyard of sun-bleached brick. The courtyard was open, night sky acting as a canopy to shield the numerous partygoers with a shower of sparkling stars. Long strings of paper lanterns in a rainbow of colors swayed in the sweet warm breeze causing the shadows to dance and sway alongside the guests.

 

“I have missed you, Samuel.”

 

He started at the whisper of air against his ear, eyes wide, “I don’t know you.”

 

Amusement colored her eyes as she ran one slender hand along his arm and he shivered at the touch. “How soon you all forget?” a resolute sigh escaped her. “Almost one year hasn’t it been?”

 

Sam opened his mouth to answer then realized she wasn’t speaking to him, but rather one of the willowy creatures approaching her on silent feet. He thought creature because, well frankly, John Winchester didn’t raise fools. There was no way in hell he’d call them women although that was what they appeared to be at first glance.

 

There were two of them, both quite tall and slender. The first was moonlight pale, eyes a deep verdant green, and a waterfall of bone straight gold hair. She was clothed in an old fashion dress, the same shade of green as her eyes and wore a band of deep red roses bound with yellow and green ribbon to hold back her hair. The second had skin the color of milk chocolate, eyes that matched seamlessly, and mahogany hair that fell down her back. This one’s dress, although of the same design, was that reddish orange you only saw at sunset and the band in her hair was of yellow tipped orange roses and reddish orange ribbons.

 

They both smiled at Sam, but their expressions were flat as if they didn’t understand the meaning of the curl of lips. It wasn’t simply that though. If they shifted and the light hit them in a certain way, the faint echo of bone and darkness revealed itself beneath the thin veneer of their skin. He swallowed hard as the blonde-haired woman handed him a champagne glass filled with rose-colored liquid that fizzed and bubbled.

 

“Drink,” his dark-eyed host smiled.

 

Sam frowned, gaze lowering to the glass and then lifted back to focus on her face. “How do I know it’s safe? As a matter of fact what the…”

 

“Champagne.”

 

His frown deepened as he glanced back at the glass, “What?”

 

The corner of her lips quirked up, “Champagne my favorite drink—pink champagne.”

 

Her laughter was light, airy, and Sam could have sworn he remembered it. He took a deep breath then lifted the glass to his lips sipping the cold, crisp liquid, the bubbles tickling his nose. It tasted like the champagne he remembered from that New Year’s party he’d attended with Jess the year she’d died. Lowering the glass, he met her bottomless gaze. They stood there studying one another as around them the sound of exotic music moved the guests to newer heights of sensation, bodies wrapping around each other.

 

“I know you,” Sam finally broke the silence between them. “You came for me…back in Wyoming.” His chest tightened with the memory of his fight with Jake, the sound of Dean’s voice, and then white-hot pain he later learned was Jake’s blade slicing through his spinal cord. “But it wasn’t you.”

 

She smile at his confused words and held her hand out, “Come, Samuel Winchester, let us talk. There are things that need to be discussed.”

 

Hesitant, Sam reached out his larger hand engulfing hers, but for some reason he felt like the small one. Her hand was warm and it surprised him, he knew who she was with that touch, and to be honest he was still surprised it had been that simple.

 

“Nothing is ever that simple, Samuel,” she glanced over her shoulder.

 

A shiver traveled through him, but this time it wasn’t fear, it was knowledge. The knowledge was bitter in the back of his throat that this woman was not what she appeared to be, but rather was what he sought for so long—a solution.

 

**~~~**

 

“You must dance with me, child.”

 

Sam swallowed hard as she led him from the courtyard of dancing guests, music fading to white noise in the background. “What does that mean?”

 

She laughed, sound like the brush of feathery wings through the air. “It means you escaped my embrace the last time, but so has Dean.” His eyes widened as her laughter faded. “Why so shocked, Samuel? You do know my name—do you not?”

 

Nodding he exhaled, “Mictecacihuatl, the Lady of the Dead.”

 

“Oh,” her eyes shimmered, “it has been many centuries since anyone has called me that. I prefer Catrina. It is far simpler.” Pausing outside two huge wooden doors, she looked past Sam, over his shoulder and tilted her head in what appeared to be a nod.

 

Sam turned to catch a glimpse of the two effeminate creatures from the courtyard. He hadn’t even realized that they were following them as silent as they had been. With a sharp inhalation, he watched as they nodded back, spun in unison, and moved back up the long corridor toward the courtyard, their gowns trailing out behind them along the rough brick floor.

 

“You will have to excuse my handmaidens. They can be quite imposing to those who know what they are.” She pushed the door open.

 

“And what are they?” Sam questioned.

 

Stepping through the doors, she turned and met his gaze, “Collectors of souls—of course. They are what some call reapers and others call hellhounds. They are neither and both. They are the ones that take your soul to where it belongs.”

 

“But a reaper was what…”

 

She shook her head as she motioned around the room and hundreds of candles around them lit spontaneously. “She was not a reaper in the traditional sense.” Catrina raised her eyebrows at the expression on Sam’s face, “Desperate times call for desperate measures. Besides why would it surprise you that a reaper can be either male or female? Your brother knows these things.”

 

Sam shook his head, “No, it’s not that. I don’t understand how my dad could sell his soul to Azazel to save Dean and then Dean is going to die because—“

 

“Of you?” her expression softened as she reached out to grasp his wrist, drawing him closer as her hips swayed to music only she heard. “You mustn’t blame yourself. Dean is strong willed and his fate is entwined with yours.” A knowing glimmer slid across the surface of her eyes. “You both believe had your father discovered the true nature of your relationship he would have abandoned you.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam mumbled as she pulled him closer.

 

Catrina chuckled, “Please, Samuel, why must you tell such flimsy lies. We all know that you and your brother are lovers. Your father knew as well too. He knew it would happen and it would do so despite all his attempts to stop it.”

 

His eyes widened, “Who is we?”

 

The corner of her lips crept up in a half-smile, “Those of us who watch from the other side.”

 

Sam sighed, shoulders slumping, “So we’ve been watched…”

 

“Long before you even lived as brothers.” She released his wrist and circled him slow, eyes drifting shut, and tongue flicking out to lick along her lips. “You are both old souls…ones that have lived through lives innumerable.” She inhaled his scent and smiled, “In one you were husband and wife—Dean would be upset to find he was the girl. In another, you were best friends. In another—enemies on two different sides of the same war,” When she stopped she was in front of him again.

 

Her eyes opened and Sam gasped at what he saw—infinity—darkness deeper than any well a man could dig and the light of a billion stars. The sight mesmerized him, drew him closer, until her breath was warm on his lips.

 

“This time as was told in ages past you are all things to one another; siblings, lovers, enemies, and allies. They’ve spoken since time immortal of a soul torn apart and of how the soul would always find its missing part. It was said, when the end of days came one-half of the soul would be faced with a decision that would either destroy or save man. The other half would escape death’s hand three times and the third time it would be its other half that bargained with death.”

 

Biting his lip until he tasted blood, Sam continued to stare into the endless night of her eyes—the eyes of death. “Then you’ve always known. You’ve just been waiting.”

 

Catrina’s smile widened. “Yes,” she hissed, “we’re all prisoners here in this place. Even I am and you are as well by your own device.” Dark lashes spread across her cheeks as she lowered her lids.

 

“What about Azazel?” Sam whispered as Catrina laid her cheek against his chest, arms ensnaring his waist.

 

She lifted her gaze to his face, eyes normal now, “What of him? Your brother killed him leaving what plans he had as naught but dust. You are not just humanities savior, but ours as well.”

 

Sam’s brow creased, “I don’t…”

 

Spinning away from him, Catrina laughed. “What you call God did not give us all free will as he did with you humans. Why do you think Lucifer led a rebellion? We that were created to serve God were told this was our path and we were not allowed to defy it. Those that defied God fell from his grace to become what you humans call demons.”

 

One of Sam’s eyebrows quirked up, disappearing beneath his bangs, “So what you’re saying is the creatures we’ve fought all our lives aren’t evil?”

 

Laughter exploded from between Catrina’s shiny lips, “On the contrary I am saying they are evil, but not all of them. You see, Samuel, Lucifer’s army of angels were nothing but rebellious teenagers, and as such some did find the error in their ways and others—well let’s say they chose self-inflicted pain over clarity. They chose to blame everyone for their woes, refused to look inward, and accept responsibility for themselves.”

 

Sam sighed, head spinning, “Why are you telling me these things?”

 

Tugging him across the candlelit room, she pushed him back onto the huge bed overlooking the desert landscape through floor to ceiling glass. As he hit the bed, he bounced and wondered exactly what he had to give to save Dean. If it meant lying with her in the biblical sense, he supposed it wouldn’t be so bad—at least she was attractive. Arms folded beneath his head he yawned, eyes lifting to the ceiling above. To his surprise, the ceiling was covered with mirrors and what he saw caused him both fear and confusion. He turned his head and met Catrina’s sympathetic expression.

 

“Now do you understand?”

 

Sam nodded as she came to him and lay down, head resting in the hollow beneath his chin. “Is it the truth?”  He whispered glancing up at his reflection.

 

She sighed and curled around him, “Only if you allow it.”

 

“So you’re saying I have a choice?”

 

“Yes, after all you are human.”

 

“Then can I…?”

 

She sat up eyes sparkling, “No, that is my domain and I believe it is my time to rebel.”

 

**~~~**

When Sam woke the sweet warm scent of colitas was drifting through the open windows. He pushed off the bed to his feet, even as he noticed the mirrors had gone black. He recalled little of the past few hours, but then that’s what happened when one danced with death—they either remembered or forgot.

 

What he did remember were the words Catrina had spoken to him. She’d told him the entire story and he wondered why he’d never thought of it before. As he’d laid there drinking her pink champagne and inhaling the sweet taste of the colitas he wondered what his father would make of this entire thing.

 

He’d found a book back in Black Rock at the storage facility John had kept. For some reason he’d taken the small leather bound volume and he’d never told Dean. It had turned out to be another journal of sorts, this one kept by their mother. At first he couldn’t read the thing, it seemed to be nothing but gibberish, and then he’d figured it out. Mary had written it in Latin, but had done so in mirror writing. To his shock, he’d discovered the secret their father had kept until the day he’d died. Mary had been far more than the woman John had loved and for Sam the revelation had shocked him to the core. Within the journal pages, she’d spoke of a place where those like her could speak to Mictecacihuatl.

 

There had been notes on a ritual of sorts, but there had also been something else. There had been her fears her child would be hunted down by the Beast as she’d called him—Azazel. Then there had been notes on a symbol carved of brass that held the power to protect her son. She’d had nothing to go on and neither had Sam. This symbol was said to reverse or invalidate any curse, omen, or devil’s deal when given to the person you loved more than your own life. The symbol was that of Mictecacihuatl and if you were to call her forth on the first day of the celebration of death and honor her by sharing a drink she could increase the symbol’s power ten-fold or she could reveal its location to you if you were, but seeking it. Sam couldn’t believe he’d never thought of that one thing.

 

She revealed to him memories of a long ago time when they’d been visiting Bobby. Within those memories, Catrina had let him see how Bobby had watched him with curious eyes as he poked about in the extensive occult library he had. The elder man had vanished only to reappear shortly before they had left a small brown paper parcel in his calloused hand and he’d knelt down in front of Sam, pressed the package in his hand, and spoke to him.

_“Son, this is a really special gift. It protects the person you love most from the bad things in the world. Give that to your daddy for Christmas.”_

 

That was the Christmas he’d discovered the truth about John. He’d badgered Dean until his brother had given in and explained how their dad was a superhero. It had broken Sam’s heart to find out that John had lied about everything. Dean had been the only one he could trust, the one who’d taken care of him, and ultimately the one who’d told him the truth. It was why he’d given Dean the gift meant for their dad. How could he have known the gift he’d given Dean all those years ago had been the very symbol his mother had written about in her journal.

 

As he’d lain next to Catrina sharing a drink and a smoke, she’d explained how the symbol worked. She was even older than the Aztec civilization from whom she’d gotten her name and in millennia past she’d created the amulet, the symbol, for her followers—soldiers who sometimes were lovers and sometimes brothers. She gifted them the ability to join as one as they marched into battle; for once the amulet was given the giver owned the soul of the receiver.

 

In he and Dean’s case the gift meant even more for not only were they brothers and future lovers, but they were also two halves of the same soul—not any soul though. They were the soul that had inspired Catrina to create the symbol in her own image. When complete they’d lost their lover to the darkness of betrayal. In their grief they called out to her by the name which she was known by at that time—Anat. She could not bring their lover back and in their grief, they split. Touched by the soul ripping itself apart in grief she swore that no other would be separated from the one who completed them thus the amulet had been created.

 

What she’d told him eased the pain in Sam’s soul for the first time in a year, yet he was still worried. If what Catrina had told him then the deal Dean made with the now deceased crossroads demon was invalid. There was something not quite right though.

 

Stepping into the hall Sam followed the scent of food to the left and back out into the courtyard, but this time there was no dancing. The guests were now in various states of dress, settled around a long narrow table piled high with all kinds of food from fresh fruit to elaborate desserts that would shame any human baker. At the head of the table Catrina sat, one long leg flung over the arm of her chair.

 

“Samuel, have you decided to join us?” Her shadowed eyes sparkled in the dim light of the lanterns. “Do have a seat.” Lifting her hand, she bit into the ripe scarlet apple she held.

 

“What did you do?” Sam asked, eyes narrowing.

 

She flipped the apple over her shoulder and flowed to her feet. “I did nothing you didn’t ask for. You wanted answers—I gave them to you.” Moving around the table, she trailed her fingers along the table, gaze never leaving Sam’s face. “Just sit, Samuel. Sit and join us in the pleasures of both taste and,” her other hand lifted, finger running along his chest, “touch.”

 

Sam flinched and stepped back, “No, thank you. I need to get back to my brother…been gone for too long already.”

 

Leaning in closer, Catrina offered him a seductive smile, “Not even one bite?” She spun and lifted a cluster of red grapes, each one the size of the tip of Sam’s thumb. Plucking one from the cluster, she held it out, cool skin brushing against his lips. “They’re very good,” she whispered, “sweet and juicy. A single grape won’t kill you.”

 

He stepped back again, nearly tripping over his own feet. He knew this part of the story. It was eternal and it had been repeated over the centuries from the cave paintings to the myth of Persephone and Hades. He closed his eyes and inhaled, Dean’s voice filling his head.

_“She would have been okay, but she had to eat those damn seeds. See that’s the lesson here, Sammy. Never accept food from the dead.”_

 

Eyes flying open, Sam shook his head, “No, it won’t kill me, but it’ll curse me.”

 

Catrina’s eyes narrowed a spark of light skimming across their surface, “Oh, Samuel,” she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “you’re far too smart for your own good. I only ask for a little companionship.”

 

“Thanks for the help, but I’m not your guy.” Sam spun and headed for the door as the other guests were torn from their stupor. “See you later!”

 

“Get him! Stop the beast!” Catrina shrieked, eyes going black, “Samuel you must pay for the knowledge!”

 

The faceless guests drew their knives blades gleaming in the dim light, and followed Sam, their voices an animalistic snarl behind him. The corridor seemed endless, but Sam knew it was an illusion; this was the final obstacle to overcome. He could feel them closing in and he refused to look back for fear of what he would see. The only thing Sam knew was he had to get back; back to Dean, back to his life, and back to the real world. He had to discover the passage back to where he’d been before. Suddenly the corridor faded away as did the masses of howling beasts and Sam found himself facing the one thing he’d never imagined he would again.

 

Azazel in his human form stood between him and the doors to freedom. His golden eyes studied Sam with an intensity that sent shivers through him. “What do you want?”

 

“Sammy,” Azazel purred lips curled in a smirk, “I’m here to help you.”

 

“Yeah, help me straight back into Catrina’s arms.” Sam’s eyes shone with fury.

 

Shaking his head, Azazel turned pushing open one of the doors behind him, “You wound my soul, Sammy.  You were always the one I wanted and if I were to let Catrina snag you now you couldn’t fulfill your destiny.”

 

Sam growled in disgust, “Destiny? What destiny?”

 

“You’ll know when the time is right,” his eyes, flashed amber as he faded away.

 

Glancing behind him, Sam shivered then tumbled through the door, Catrina’s snarls of anger echoing in his ears as the darkness swallowed him.

 

**~~~**

 

“God damn it, Sam. This wasn’t the deal.”

 

That was the first thing that invaded the darkness, Dean’s voice tight with a mix of anger and desperation. The next thing that penetrated the graying shadows around him was a touch or rather two touches. First, he felt Dean’s hand settle on his brow and brush the tangle of his bangs away from his skin, the drag of calloused skin familiar and comforting. The second was the warm dampness of what he would have guessed was a tear if it wasn’t Dean.

 

“Son of a bitch…this isn’t the way it was supposed to…”

 

Suddenly Sam was coughing the shadows lightening around him.

 

“Oh, shit, Sammy! Can you hear me?”

 

Sam blinked sandy grit from his eyes as he tried to focus on his surroundings. “Dean?”

 

From the corner of his eye, he noticed movement and then Dean’s wide green eyes were staring down at him with cautious relief. “Jesus, you okay?”

 

“Where am I?” he grunted as Dean helped him to sit up.

 

Dean rolled his eyes and snorted, but there was still a hint of fear, “In the middle of the fucking road cause you walked out in front of that poor man’s pick-up.”

 

He followed Dean’s hand with his gaze as he pointed out the little old Mexican man who was sitting on the edge of the tailgate of a ’58 Chevy pick-up. Slowly he stood despite Dean’s protests and limped to the old man’s side and reached out his hand settling on the old man’s shoulder, “Soy autorización, abuelo, no me preocupo.”

 

The elderly man looked up a Sam with wide dark eyes and smiled, “Agradezca a dios, Fui preocupado y temí que puede ser que le haya matado.” He stood up and hugged Sam with a rough laugh.

 

“You know Spanish?” Dean’s voice demanded from behind him.

 

Sam turned and smiled, “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, man.”

 

**~~~**

 

It was later that night, as they lay together naked and exhausted, Sam told Dean what he’d discovered. The confession was slow in coming, but he knew he had to explain it all for Dean to believe what he’d went through. Dean had remained silent throughout the story an occasional ‘huh’ escaping him as he ran his fingers through the silken strands of Sam’s hair.

 

Sam was lying curled around Dean, head resting beneath his brother’s chin and his eyes were locked on the amulet he’d given him all those years ago. A soft chuff of laughter escaped him as his fingers played along the leather thong, “Who would have guessed… this silly gift would be the answer to…” he choked up, vision blurred.

 

“It was never silly,” Dean spoke for the first time since Sam had told his story. “Nothing about you or from you has ever been silly.”

 

He lifted his head and through his tears he saw the brightest smile he’d ever witnessed on Dean’s face, “Really?” his fingers tightened around the amulet.

 

“Yeah, really,” Dean chuckled as his fingers tightened in Sam’s hair, tugging and urging him closer.

 

Sam flushed bright pink beneath the gold of his skin, “So, you’re not pissed?” He questioned as he sat up, nose within a breath of Dean.

 

A wicked smirk curled the corner of Dean’s mouth as he leaned in, “Oh, I am most definitely pissed, dude. I am so pissed.  I believe you need to be punished, but first…”

 

Eyes wide and face a deep crimson, Sam cleared his throat, “What?”

 

“How’s this work?” Dean’s hand folded over Sam’s where it curled around the amulet.

 

Sam wrinkled his nose up as if he’d smelled something bad. “I’m not sure, but I do know that I own your soul and since the crossroads demon didn’t check then that’s her problem. She gave willingly and so did you without malice or knowledge of a previous spell. So what she gave can’t be taken away.”

 

“Good,” Dean leaned in his lips ghosting along Sam’s to his ear where he whispered ever so softly, “’Cause I don’t want to lose you.”

 

A shiver traveled down Sam’s spine as Dean rolled him over onto his back and claimed his mouth in a passionate kiss. “You won’t,” he breathed into Dean’s mouth.

 

Dean pulled back and quirked one brow at Sam, “Dude, you taste like colitas.”

 

“What do you know about colitas?” Sam offered a similar expression to Dean.

 

“Oh, please, man. I love the Eagles.” Dean snorted then swooped in for another kiss this one biting. “Besides, this isn’t the first time I been to Mexico, senorita.”

 

“Dean,” Sam growled low in his throat.

 

“What?”

 

“I am not a woman.”

 

“Prove it,” Dean hissed in amusement and then there was a pause. “What the hell is that?”

 

Sam grinned from ear to ear smugly, “I think I just did prove it.”

 

“I do believe you did,” Dean chuckled as Sam rolled him over, “yep—definitely.”

 

Whatever awaited them across the border when the hounds of hell came to collect Dean didn’t really matter. After all, they had one another and Sam was a possessive son of a bitch if nothing else. Besides he’d smoked a few buds for the dead and even snagged a few to offer the dead in celebration he was sure they’d appreciate it.

 

~Finis~


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